


Leave Me in a State of Grace

by what_alchemy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6791002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_alchemy/pseuds/what_alchemy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's never been asked to dance before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Me in a State of Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [offensiveagentpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/gifts).



> For offensiveagentpie, who wanted dancing and fluff. 
> 
> Title from Levitator, by LP.

Apologies poured from Matt’s mouth like a litany of Hail Marys. Foggy was leading him back to Foggy’s apartment, but all Matt wanted to do was lay his forehead against the fragrant nape of Foggy’s neck and pout.

“Bud, you gotta let me have this one thing,” Foggy said after the millionth iteration of _I’m so sorry, Fog_. “Some things are actually not your fault. That is a thing that happens.”

“But I know how much you were looking forward to this,” Matt said. 

An indelicate snort, the swish of Foggy’s hair against his jaw as he shook his head. He reached over and patted Matt’s hand where it lay in his elbow. 

“I’m the idiot who didn’t even think about the fact that my best friend had super senses that might get overwhelmed on the dance floor,” he said. “This one’s on me, dude. Please stop bearing the weight of the world; I worry for your shoulders, you know.”

Matt sealed his lips together to keep more variations on _but I ruined your good time_ from spilling out. He wanted Foggy’s huff of annoyance even less than his attempts to shoulder the burden of Matt’s nightclub neurosis. 

It had been a disaster. The choking humidity, the dizzying thump and rattle of the bass up Matt’s spine and into his teeth, the itchy buzz of the lights, the jostle and press of countless bodies hot and heavy against his own, the white noise of the crowd like static that only got louder—so much sensory input as to replicate the feeling of going blind all over again. Matt had almost fallen over, and everyone in the club was lucky he’d cultivated an iron stomach as a garbage day survival mechanism years ago.

Matt swallowed, his equilibrium finally balancing out the closer they got to Foggy’s apartment. 

“I just…”

The inevitable huff. Matt’s heart dipped into his stomach. Foggy stopped and faced him, head tilted and mouth pressed flat. Matt dropped his hand from Foggy’s elbow.

“What, Matt?” Foggy said. “You just what?”

Matt ducked his chin toward his chest. 

“Just wanted to share this with you,” he mumbled. 

Matt felt Foggy’s flush creep up his neck and flame into his ears. 

“I—oh. Um.” He shook his head again and shifted from foot to foot. Then he drew himself up, took a deep breath, and slapped both his hands on Matt’s shoulders to give him a firm squeeze. “You know what?” he said. “I’ve got an idea.”

—

Foggy’s post-Nelson and Murdock apartment was an airy, modern space with fancy things like insulated windows and hardwood floors without unidentifiable debris between the slats. Foggy had planted Matt on the couch with his softest blanket to cover his sad head with while he moved his coffee table and Laz-E-Boy and end tables to the edges of the living room. He was panting by the time he finished, and he took a moment to breathe while he pointed a remote at his sound system. After a series of electronic boops, [catchy modern pop rock Matt had never heard before](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCVN5pLXoo4) streamed softly from speakers turned down low. Matt sat up as Foggy came to stand in front of him. Foggy leaned forward and plucked the blanket gently off his head.

“Hey,” he said, low. His heart stumbled, but its rhythm was even again in the moment he reached out to smooth Matt’s hair down. Matt’s own breath hitched.

“What album is this?” Matt said instead of anything important.

“It’s just a mix I made,” Foggy said. He dropped his hand from the crown of Matt’s head and held it out like a handshake. Matt gripped it tight, and Foggy hauled him to his feet. “This band is Night Terrors of 1927.”

“That’s, um. A mouthful,” Matt said. Foggy let his hand go and shrugged.

“I just shrugged,” he said, then shook his head as if clearing water from his ears. “Sorry, bad habit.” 

“No, it’s—I don’t mind.” Matt huffed at himself. “I mean, I like it. You shouldn’t stop doing it.”

Foggy stared at him for a second. The chorus of the song picked up, soft, clear women’s voices Matt found vaguely familiar. 

“Dance with me,” Foggy said. 

“This doesn’t sound like the stuff in the club,” Matt said.

“Yeah, it’ll hurt you less,” Foggy said. “C’mon, Matty.” He tugged on his hand and dragged him out into the makeshift dance floor. 

Matt stood there, stiff and upright as Foggy loosened his spine and swayed his hips into the rhythm of the song. Matt’s shoulders crept upward, and he crossed his arms over his chest for something to do with his hands. Foggy’s laugh was a breath that ghosted over Matt’s skin, raising goosebumps even as Matt burned with some unnameable humiliation. 

“Hey,” Foggy said, soft. He _poured_ towards Matt and tugged his hands away from his chest, ringing his wrists loosely as Matt’s heart rate spiked. “Don’t tell me all that MMA shit you do isn’t some epic balletic grace shit. So what’s tripping you up right now?” 

“I don’t know,” Matt said. That he’d never been asked to dance before seemed unimportant until this moment. Until it suddenly mattered so much to do it right that Matt ached with not being able to. 

“Okay,” Foggy said. He pulled Matt’s hands up to his shoulders and laid the palms over his trapezius muscles. He set his own hands on Matt’s hips, leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “Just feel me, Matty.” He moved, seamless and undulating in time with the beat, and through his shoulders Matt felt the glide of muscle over bone in concert with the notes lingering in the air and the vibrations reverberating gently through his own body and Foggy’s. Matt gasped as electricity lit him up from tailbone to nape. 

“Oh,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Foggy said, and shifted his hips against him. “Can you move with me?”

Matt swallowed hard, but he slid one hand around the back of Foggy’s neck and pressed the front of his body into Foggy’s. The swell of Foggy’s belly was a comforting anchor against his sensitized skin, even through the layers of their shirts. He could feel the thump of Foggy’s life fill up the chambers of his own chest, and he shuddered, tucking his face into Foggy’s neck. He let his hips swing easy and pendulous from side to side, and Foggy murmured another affirmative. Matt breathed him deep. For a moment, his lungs were so full of Foggy there was no room for anything else—not the music or the rush of his blood in tandem with Foggy’s or the slide of their bodies against each other—there was just Matt, brimming with Foggy. When he exhaled, the world trickled back in, and he let the hand unoccupied by Foggy’s hair trail down his back and onto the curve of his ass. Foggy’s breath came uneven into Matt’s shoulders as he pressed closer.

“Jesus,” he muttered. He squeezed Matt’s hips and didn’t shy away when his penis began to harden. 

The song faded, and in the split second’s silence between it and the next, Foggy and Matt remained suspended, swaying as if to notes sustained only between their bodies. [The next song started](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZnlUge5C68), promising a more straightforward rock progression, but Foggy’s hands slid around the small of Matt’s back and held him firmly in place.

“Stay,” was all he said, but Matt had very good hearing. Longer than the song, he heard, longer than _let’s go out dancing, Matty_ , longer than however long it would take to cobble the two of them back together again. _Stay_. He let himself sag into Foggy’s chest. Foggy rubbed up and down his back and rocked their bodies together with the song. Their matching arousal, a throbbing heat that raised the humidity between them, seemed a secondary concern to the way Foggy pressed his forehead against Matt’s, the way their hearts pumped along together, the way Foggy had staked a claim on every single sense Matt had left to himself. The song rose and swelled, and Matt felt a crystalline rightness to the universe settle over him, new and enlightening. It tasted like the Boston cream donut Foggy had eaten that morning.

“I’m so happy,” he blurted, and he felt the spread of Foggy’s smile against his cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Foggy said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

[The next song was considerably slower](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c__noWWtdZg), and when the chorus came in, Matt recognized the lyrics.

“This a cover?” he asked.

“Some Irish guy,” Foggy said. He pulled back, eyes blinking out tiny moist sounds as he peered into Matt’s face. “You like it?”

“This mix has a lot of blind people in it,” Matt said. “I feel like you’re trying to tell me something.”

“Matt,” Foggy said, and Matt could _hear_ the frown creeping into the corners of his mouth.

Matt licked his lips and pushed his face back into Foggy’s neck. He let his hips and shoulders roll and sway along with the music, budging up against Foggy’s body, which had slowed to a stop. When the chorus began again, and he knew the words from a distant memory, he sang them into the delicate skin between Foggy’s neck and shoulder. 

“ _Bring me a higher love._ ” His voice, he knew, was thin and reedy and weak, he didn’t have the exact cadence of this cover so he was off anyway, and the nuns had kicked him out of chorus when he was fifteen for a reason, but he let it all go when Foggy’s pulse bounced against his lips. “ _Bring me a higher love. Bring me a higher love. Where’s this higher love I’ve been thinking of?_ ”

Foggy shuddered in his arms. Matt pushed his hands up into Foggy’s hair, fine and soft and made by some divine hand as if for Matt’s fingers alone, and pressed his cheek into Foggy’s. But the truth was, Foggy had always been braver than Matt could ever be. He turned his head and swept Matt’s mouth up in a kiss. It felt the way fireworks did, flaring up into Heaven. 

 

**End**


End file.
